


A local habitation and a name

by middlemarch



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Children, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, Post-Canon, egg noodles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: By now, Jeff had a decent idea of Annie really did want. And need. Today, it was an extra two hours at her office and total control of her Post-Its.
Relationships: Abed Nadir & Jeff Winger, Annie Edison & Abed Nadir, Annie Edison/Jeff Winger, Troy Barnes & Abed Nadir
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	A local habitation and a name

As it turned out, there was no Sebastian.

There was however a Sarah. And a Naomi. Both of whom had holiday inspired middle names (Noel and Carol) because they had arrived on Christmas Eve and Jeff cannily waited until the epidural kicked in and Annie was nearly loopy with relief. He had already agreed to bat mitzahs, so she didn’t try to kick him when her legs worked again and she wasn’t distracted by the delivery, the euphoria, and the over-achieving bliss of getting two newborns to latch. The twins were fraternal, thank God, so there was no tiny toenail to keep painted green to tell them apart; Sarah had Annie’s dark curls and Naomi was blonder than Jeff had ever been, based on the handful of faded, curved corner photographs Doreen had surrendered readily when Annie asked. They both had Annie’s eyes and Jeff had thought he was in trouble until Clare arrived. Then he knew it wasn’t going to be about trouble, as people generally anticipated being able to get out of trouble. He was vastly outnumbered, outmaneuvered and in thrall. And so, he agreed to go part-time at Greendale and full-time as Papa. Except his daughters only called him Daddy.

“Girls! I said pronto and I meant five minutes ago! Pick out your stuffies and get a move on! Mommy is meeting us there and you know Uncle Abed doesn’t like waiting!” Jeff called, shoveling finely pureed green beans into Clare’s mouth. She gave him the look it had taken him about six years, four hours a day in the gym and a student loan’s worth of Glenfiddich to master, then gobbled the mossy goop like it was a Valrhona hot fudge sundae. She had his dimples and Annie’s; she could do whatever she liked and at eight months, it was clear she’d picked up on it.

“Abed said we don’t have to say ‘uncle’ if we don’t want to,” Sarah yelled. Naomi joined in on _want to_. “Because we have Uncle Ant and Uncle Troy and Uncle Dean and that’s enough uncles.”

“Fine. Mommy will kill me if we’re late and I’ll be the one she blames, not you,” Jeff shouted. He had not shouted in like ten years until the twins had turned three (whatever, terrible twos, you’re fucking cliché) and now he had a whole shouting channel basically. Clare had been exposed to the volume since her conception and he had no idea what he was going to do with her. “Remember the puppy argument you were going to propose? She’ll say no, you know she will!”

“Daddy, we’re coming,” Naomi said in Annie’s most reasonable tone. 

“We have Clare’s extra footie. For when she spits up the green beans,” Sarah added. She was actually on the stairs, waving her hand around, clutching the rosebud covered sleeper Annie loved best like a battle-flag. 

“I’m so screwed,” Jeff muttered to himself. Clare gave him a sunny, gummy smile, then dribbled puree down her dimpled chin.

“Daddy, you’re not s’posed to say bad words,” Sarah scolded.

“What’s bad about screws?” Jeff asked. Annie had gotten them a toy tool-bench, so he was pretty sure he was safe.

“Mommy doesn’t like it. Them,” Naomi said, double-teaming him. Former (not old) Jeff, the one with the exquisitely tailored Italian suits, an impressive collection of obscure single malt Scotch and a fake college degree, would have appreciated her approach. Britta was sure to encourage them once they arrived, an appreciation that, coupled with Troy’s unexpected affinity for babies, including and featuring Clare Hadassah Winger, would allow Jeff a good seven minutes with Annie; these would be spent In Heaven, which was likely to be Abed’s walk-in pantry full of egg noodles and jarred quince. Jeff was aware of the approaching respite-slash-encounter and felt magnanimous. 

“Mommy doesn’t like that. You’re right. You too, Sarah,” Jeff said, throwing Sarah a bone for good measure. Edison women, with Winger appellations or otherwise, loved to be told they were right.

“I know,” Naomi said. Clare took a swipe at Jeff’s face and managed to daub him with green bean puree as if she were practicing contouring she’d learned from YouTube videos. The saving grace was that they were less sticky than apricots.

“Girls, watch your sister for a minute while I get cleaned up,” Jeff said. If there were going to be seven minutes alone with a totally alert Annie, or even just six, he wasn’t going to smell like steamed vegetables. And green had never been his color.

“Get a move on, Daddy!” 

“Pronto means five minutes ago! Ew, Clare!”

“Clare spit up!”

“And now she’s all red and grunting! _Daddy!_ ”

They were late. Noticeably, though not unforgivably, late. Abed wasn’t bothered in the least, as Jeff expected. Annie, half a negroni under her belt, smiled as she was regaled by Sarah and Naomi and shunted them off to Britta the moment the puppy was mentioned. Clare was cuddled briefly and then Troy carried her off to the baby Dreamatorium he and Abed had reconfigured to work with a singleton.

“You missed a spot,” Annie said, her lips against the corner of Jeff’s mouth. They were on minute two and she’d found a truly miniscule smear of green bean in his beard.

“I thought I might’ve,” Jeff said. “I didn’t cave on the number of stuffies they brought or on the Irish setter puppy lobbying though.”

“Thank you. And thank you for letting me have some peace and quiet in the office to finish up the paperwork for the case,” Annie said. “I’ll make it up to you—I know three against one isn’t great odds.”

“How about making it up to me now? There are literally five other adults available to look after the girls,” Jeff said. 

“Among the egg noodles?” Annie chuckled, reaching up to bring his face closer. She tasted of sweet vermouth and wife. “We only have a few minutes.”

“I’d give us four point three, so hush, milady,” he said, sighing a little as she agreed most agreeably. As it turned out, egg noodles were no impediment to romance and it was Clare’s shriek of joy that kept them from testing out the sturdiness of Abed’s custom pantry shelves, not any sense of whether it had been four minutes or forty that passed in a very thorough exploration of their mutual, eager and enthusiastic esteem. 

As it turned out, Jeff didn’t miss Sebastian at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Shakespeare:  
> "...And as imagination bodies forth  
> The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen  
> Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing  
> A local habitation and a name.” Midsummer Night's Dream
> 
> I have specifically not said what kind of case Annie is working on, though in my head canon, she is not an FBI agent but does, in fact, have a law degree.


End file.
